Ruminations of the Ambadassador
by WindTreesandStars
Summary: The world of Glee from Noah Puckerman's perspective: drabble-ish musings.  While it involves Puck interacting with lots of the Glee characters, his friendship & interactions with Rachel seem to keep popping up, so they are tagged. T for language.
1. The incredibly vanishing Kurt

_A.N.: Starting out as a one-shot that may become more, this is a drabble-ish foray into the mind of Noah Puckerman, looking at the world of Glee through his eyes. This chapter takes place during Season 2, episodes 9 (Special Education) and 12 (Silly Love Songs).  
_

_I own nothing. Nothing at all. Least of all anything Glee-related._

_...  
_

The old people _were_ freaking adorable. It was like seeing his Nana Connie and all her geezer pals from bingo night up there trying to sing their hearts out before, well, their hearts gave out. Puck hurried to hide the tears that came to his eyes, 'cause the Puckasaurus Did. Not. Cry. (_Or, he never used to. From the day his old man took off for good, tears had been banned from his life. Until that moment in the delivery room when he saw his daughter in her mother's arms, and he got, for the two hours before they gave Beth away, to be a dad himself. Since then, he'd found himself fighting tears away at the most random moments; fucking annoying to get slapped upside the head like that all the time._) Mercedes and Rachel had been right - this was going to be one damn tough competition. Puck couldn't seem to wipe the sappy, tear-filled grimace induced by the Garglers' song off of his face.

Until, that is, the curtain opened on the stage full of singing dudes; then Puck's face rapidly morphed from a crease of confusion to a frown to an all-out, dangerous glower. He couldn't fucking believe the gall of those preppy-posers. It was bad enough that they had to lose Kurt from New Directions—even if the twerp wasn't his best bud, dude could sing. Dude, in fact, lived to sing, just like Rachel. And those blue-blazered bastards hadn't even let him into the Tweeters? What the hell was up with that? Sure, they _killed_ that ear-candy pop number that had kept Puck from being able to turn the radio on for months on end when it came out, but freezing out Kurt Hummel? That seriously blowed.

As New Directions made their way to the green room to await their turn to perform, Mike and Mercedes tried to convince him that Kurt had, in fact, been singing with the Warblers. Puck refused to believe it. If Kurt had been up there, Puck would have seen him. There was no way _not_ to see Kurt; he always stood out, no matter how big the crowd. He _never_ moved in lock-step with anyone; he snottily insisted on going his own way and doing his own thing. That was part of why he'd always been one of Puck's biggest targets before joining glee, and it was part of why Karofsky (_asshole_) drove Kurt away from McKinley. There was _no one_ Puck knew who was less able to blend into a group and not be seen than Kurt Hummel. (_Well, Rachel was kind of like that, but with her it was not being able to not be _heard _in a crowd__._)

When Puck saw Kurt hugging Mercedes and Rachel after the tie results were announced, he figured that the Chirpers were using the kid as something like their water-boy or equipment manager; he wondered whose ass among the group of identical pretty-boys would need kicking in order to convince them to let Kurt on the team. He'd check with Finn about it if Frankenteen ever stopped his sulking; Hudson had barely talked or looked anyone in the eye since Santana snatched his balls and spilled the dirt about their one-night(_or was that fifteen minute_)-stand to Rachel. (_What kind of shit was Finn pulling, anyway, by not manning up and telling Rachel himself? The whole freaking glee club knew about what had gone down, and it wasn't like it was a big deal to any of them; at McKinley, hearing that a dude—any dude—had been banged by Santana was like hearing Coach Sylvester insult Mr. Schue's hair: totally normal and no big deal. No big deal to anyone except, of course, Rachel-_certifiably-insane-about-Finn-Hudson-and-convinced-he-was-freaking-perfect-come-down-from-on-high-_Berry, that is._) If the Twitterers were trying to keep Kurt silent, well, Puck would have something to say about it-and he'd say it with the full force of his fists backed up by the power of his guns. Kurt Hummel, wherever he was, even if it was on a rival team, should be singing, and Puck had no problem making sure that happened.

It was three months later that Puck realized Mike and Mercedes might have been right that day at Sectionals. 'Cause one minute, there was Kurt, up on the platform and speaking into a vile red microphone at Breadstix, spouting some drivel about love and longing and "this is our year," and then, as the singing started, he fucking vanished. Like poof—one minute he was there, and the next he was out of sight, invisible. Maybe the sea of blue blazers (_did they wear them to sleep? And did they have to wear blue underwear with red trim, too?_) had swallowed him up, or maybe, somehow, he _had_ learned to blend in and abandon his individual look. If so, Puck was pretty sure that Dalton wasn't the right place for Kurt to be, no matter how much Rachel and Mercedes insisted he was happy there.

Or maybe, just maybe, in his time away from McKinley, Kurt had gone into secret training and become a ninja, able to appear and disappear in the blink of an eye, ready to strike out before you knew what hit you. _That_ would be freaking cool; ninjas were all kinds of bad-ass. But so, in his own way, was Kurt Hummel. At least, he had been, insulting you even as you tossed him in a dumpster, refusing to change who he was for anyone, topping every put-down with verbal comebacks that left you bleeding, they were so sharp. Yeah, ninjas were cool. But bad-ass Kurt was even better. Puck was surprised at how much he missed him, since he went away.


	2. Giving her some Aretha

_AN: Set in the back-half of Season 2, some time after 2x12, "Silly Love Songs"_.

_The disclaimer hasn't changed._

_...  
_

"You know, I finally get it."

Puck pulled his head out of his locker, replacement guitar strings in hand. Santana was in her typical pose—hands on hips, chin thrust forward. It was still sort of freaky not to see the Cheerios-mandated ponytail swaying behind her; the pulled back, bouncing hair-style had seemed as much a part of her look as the 'hawk was a part of his. Not that she looked any softer with her hair down; "soft" and Santana Lopez just didn't go together—if anyone knew that, it was Puck.

"Get what?" he asked.

"What you see in Yentl; I get it, now."

Puck stared at her for a second, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows lowered. Why the hell was Santana talking to him about Rachel? Santana _never_ talked about, or even let on that she _noticed__,_ Rachel's existence, unless it was in the context of giving the shorter girl a smack-down.

"Wha'd'ya mean?"

"Why you bother to give Berry the time of day; it finally makes sense."

_Huh?_ Puck just kept staring, not believing what he was hearing. Who was this stranger, and what had she done with Santana Lopez? Because no way, no how, would Santana _ever_ say Rachel was anything but a waste of space. In fact, Santana's pretty much constant attitude was that _every_ girl at McKinley High (and probably everywhere else) was a waste of space; every girl except Brittany, of course, but that was another story altogether-Brit and Santana had it going on in a whole different way, or, at least, they had before he helped Artie get with Brittany . . . .

Puck's eyes suddenly went wide. "Whu- . . . wait, you mean, _you_ and _Rachel_? You two made out? _Please_, tell me it's on camera somewhere. Screw juvie; I'll drive off with another ATM and pay anything for a copy of that. For _real_; name your price . . . ." He trailed off, wondering if the Boss would walk through the doors of the school in five minutes and invite Puck to join the E Street band. Because if his Santana/Rachel fantasy was coming true (_OK, the full fantasy involved all three of them, but surely this was the first step, right?_), any_-fucking-_thing was possible.

"Shut it, Puckerman!" Santana threw a punch right into his solar plexus, ignoring the "oof" and up-rush of air from his abdomen that swiftly followed. "It's not that; she she still looks like Smurfette with a dye job. But since she's actually stopped just taking the crap I throw on her lying down and has started to bite back—"

"Bite back?" Puck interjected, remembering that afternoon he still regretted-not because kissing Rachel wasn't all kinds of hot, but because he was ticked at himself for being _that_ dude again, and because it was still bothering him, more than he felt it should, to see how broken Rachel and Finn were after the fall-out that busted up their fairytale romance. "_Bite back?_" he repeated, glassy-eyed. "So you _did_ make out with her . . . ."

Shooting him a withering stare, Santana continued, "Asshole. I _mean_, she's giving as good as she gets. I used to think she was just a loud and annoying wuss. No matter what I heaped on her or hurled at her, she just _accepted_ it, you know? Like a featherweight, too weak to even try to defend herself so she expected someone else to do it for her. And now-well, something's changed. She threw it right back and did me one better. In fact, I think she's the only one who's _ever_ dished it back to me on my level, and that includes you. I mean, come on-_-"The only job you'll ever have is working on a pole"_? That's fucking_ epic_; it approaches _my_ league of beat-downs. Hell, I can respect that."

"That was freaking _awesome_ . . . " Puck began to say, when a dagger-glance from Santana made him shut his mouth fast. Her eyes slightly narrowed, she went on.

"And I totally expected her to make me puke with some weak-ass, soppy, 'woe-is-me-my-heart-is-gone' craptastic Broadway love song for Mr. Schue's assignment, especially after I made sure to out Finn and Quinn in front of everyone. Instead, she belted out a freaking empowerment ode right off the Top 40 charts. Turns out Berry is a bad-ass after all, and you saw it first."

Puck started nodding. It was crazy, but true. While it had surprised the hell out of him when he first realized it, Rachel Berry _was_ a bad-ass. It wasn't obvious, like with him and with Santana, but Rachel, more than maybe anyone he knew, had the scary-crazy drive to go for what she wanted and never let go, and the courage to call out anyone (_except, most of the time, Hudson; he was her freaking blind spot from day one_) who messed with her or others. She might look like, and act like, a loser in most people's eyes, but if Rachel _was_ a loser, then losers were bad-ass indeed, and people should learn to keep the hell out of their way. He and Santana were the fricking king and queen of bad-ass; if _they_ saw it in Rachel Berry, rest assured, it was there.

And that explained what, until now, he'd hardly realized had been different during glee rehearsals: he couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Santana give Rachel a _real_ beat-down; she'd only been doling out random insults that could have been directed at anyone; the kind of insults that, Puck knew, Santana put no thought or effort into at all. Come to think of it, it seemed like Santana and Rachel had started to occupy the same space recently. They sat next to each other in in glee sometimes, and approached something kind of like talking to each other now and again. In fact, when he was singing to woo Zizes, there they'd been, side by side on the back row of bleachers. _Hmmm . . . ._

Finally responding, Puck said, "Right. Yeah. She is, and I did. But—about that video . . . ."

Another punch, a "Give it up, jerkwad,"and Santana whirled around and strutted off. Puck made a mental note to congratulate Rachel later on for being one of the only people to ever impress Santana Lopez. And to try to think of a way of asking _her_, without provoking a full-on Berry shriek-filled freak-out, whether anything really _had_ happened between the two girls, and whether it was on film. 'Cause, seriously, he meant it. Whatever it took to get his hands on that kind of hotness would make going back to juvie totally OK with him.


End file.
